


A Study in Dancing Princesses

by Nicnac



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (I'll totally back you up), AO3 1 Million, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Gen, Humor, If you want to declare me insane, Parody, Twelve Dancing Princesses AU, now's a good time to do it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1197021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicnac/pseuds/Nicnac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>King Lestrade had twelve daughters, and it was said that each one was more beautiful than the last, no matter which order you counted them in. That was a bit of rubbish, of course, but the girls did all range from moderately to very attractive, which meant it was hardly the worst lie ever told.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom ruled by a man named Lestrade, who was renowned for being fair and just and kind. King Lestrade had twelve daughters, and it was said that each one was more beautiful than the last, no matter which order you counted them in. That was a bit of rubbish, of course, but the girls did all range from moderately to very attractive, which meant it was hardly the worst lie ever told. Besides, King Lestrade was as fair and just and kind as he was famous for being, so all told the people were quite well satisfied with the state of things. And, as is inevitably the case when everyone is well satisfied, that was when everything went wrong.

The problem, put succinctly, was shoes. With twelve princesses, it was hardly surprising that there would occasionally be some issues with shoes, especially given the third youngest’s, Janine, extreme fondness of them, but this was a bit beyond that. Every morning, the dancing slippers of all twelve princesses would be tattered and worn through. Every day – for fear that damage done to replaceable shoes might be done to less replaceable feet otherwise – twelve new pairs would be made, only for them to meet the same fate the next morning. Now, while the price of twelve new pairs of dancing slippers might only be a pittance to a king from such a prosperous kingdom as King Lestrade’s, twelve new pairs _a day_ was rather more expensive. King Lestrade explained this to his daughters and implored them to stop ruining their shoes, or to at least explain why they felt the need to dance the night away, but not a single one of them offered a word of justification. (It might be noted, though whether it was relevant or not was debatable, that the second youngest, Molly, looked near tears in her refusal, while the second eldest, Irene, seemed to find the whole thing vastly amusing.)

Unable to think of another way to stop the nightly shoe destruction, King Lestrade ordered all the princesses ousted from their bedchambers and instead made to share a room that was large enough for twelve beds, twelve wardrobes, and twelve vanities, but not large enough to also contain twelve dancing princesses. Then all the entrances and exits to the room were closed off, save a single heavy wooden door. That door was refitted with a single heavy iron lock that in turn could only be opened with a single heavy iron key that King Lestrade never removed from a chain around his neck. (Anyone who has ever tried to sleep with a heavy iron key around their neck can attest to how very dedicated to his daughters King Lestrade must have been in order to do so.) But despite these measures, the King still found himself buying twelve new pairs of shoes each day.

Truly desperate now, he opened up a challenge to anyone who cared to take it. Though, after an incident where the middle daughter, Sally, proved the worth of all the lessons in self-defense she had insisted on, and the third eldest, Sarah, proved the worth of all the lessons in medicine _she_ had insisted on, the wording was changed to ‘anyone who cared to take it _that wasn’t a known murderer, rapist, or thief_.’ This person would be allowed three nights locked in the room with the princesses. If at the end of that time, they were able to reveal the truth behind the princesses’ nightly activities, then that person would have a great reward bestowed upon them, the exact nature of which was rather vague. There were rumors that the reward was the hand of one of King Lestrade’s daughters, rumors that surprisingly _weren’t_ dispelled after it came out that the first challenger had been the princesses’ nursemaid/nanny/governess/all-around mother figure, Mrs. Hudson. Other rumors suggested that the winner would become King Lestrade’s heir, but anyone who knew the eldest daughter, Mary, knew that the title of heir apparent would only go elsewhere over her dead body, quite literally. (And truthfully, even if someone did get past her, they would suddenly find themselves contending with the youngest daughter, who was currently going by Anthea.)

Despite, or perhaps because of, the mysterious nature of the reward, many came to take the challenge. There were princes and paupers, dukes and destitute, and one particularly enterprising young goose girl who eventually went on to have a fair number of adventures of her own, but each one of them failed to uncover the truth behind the ruined slippers. And with each failure, King Lestrade fell a bit more into despair. 


	2. Chapter 2

Doctor John Watson, formerly Captain John Watson of the Northumberland border outpost, limped his way through the tranquil wood. He was only an hour or two out from Harriet’s tavern now, but with each step he took, he found himself going slower. He loved his sister, of course, but the two of them didn’t exactly get on, and he hated the idea of being dependent on her, even if it was only for a little while.

John hardly even noticed at first when a bird started singing on a branch along the roadside. Even when the bird picked up and flew to another branch just ahead of him, John only paid enough attention to note that the bird was pure black, unusual for a songbird. But when the bird started bloody well _following_ him, it got pretty hard to ignore.

John stopped and rounded on the bird, which promptly ceased its twittering to watch John with an almost expectant look about it. “Is there something you wanted?” John asked, resolutely ignoring how immensely stupid he must look.

The bird unsurprisingly (mostly unsurprisingly) didn’t say anything back, just kept staring. A few seconds later, a black stag stepped out from between the trees and came up next to John. He pressed himself so close up against John’s side that John was forced to move his cane to his other hand so he could lay the now free arm on top of the deer’s back. Then the deer led John through the trees, the little bird flitting ahead of them.

It was about a ten minute walk before they reached their destination. The trees opened up to reveal a decent-sized clearing, at the center of which was a plain wooden-backed chair and a man wearing very expensive-looking clothing and carrying an umbrella.

“Have a seat, John.” The man’s requested was underscored when the deer abruptly abandoned John’s side, leaving him to stagger for his cane to keep from collapsing onto the chair. The deer continued to trot across the clearing, as easy as you please. It came to a stop beside the man, opposite the shoulder the bird was now perched on, and looked at John with wide, guileless eyes. Git.

“You know, there are easier ways to get ahold of someone,” John said, limping past the chair. “I mean, very clever and all that, but you could have gone for something a little more straight forward.”

The man’s tones were as smoothed and polished as the rest of him and it irrationally made John hate him a little bit more. “When one is avoiding the attention of certain individuals, one learns to be discreet, hence this place.”

John raised his eyebrows and looked around. A random clearing in the woods did make sense if the man was trying to avoid attention, but John wouldn’t exactly call the jet black and possibly sapient bird and stag discreet.

“I don’t want to sit down.” The words slipped out before John could consider the wisdom of refusing a man who was at the very least powerful enough to exert some control over animals, but once they were out there he let them stand. John Watson wasn’t about to let himself be cowed by a man with a songbird on his shoulder – though come to think of it the bird looked more like a raven now.

“You don’t seem very afraid.”

“You don’t seem very frightening.”

The man chuckled. “Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don’t you think?” John wasn’t even going to begin to get into that argument, so he just shrugged his shoulder and waited for the man to get to his actual point. He didn’t have to wait long. “What do you know about the situation with this kingdom’s princesses?”

That was unexpected. “Same thing that everyone does, I guess.”

“Yes, well I suppose taking almost three week to get here from Northumberland would give you plenty of time to catch up on the gossip.”

“Who _are_ you?” asked John.

“An interested party,” the man said, giving his umbrella a lazy twirl.

“Interested in who?” Because despite the clandestine meeting and the apparent stalking ad the… woodland creatures, John was sure it wasn’t him.

“An excellent question. For the moment, however, I’d rather focus on the what. And what I’m interested in is seeing to it that the curse on the princesses is broken as soon as possible.”

“Curse?” John echoed. “How do you know it’s a curse?”

“One or two girls rebelling against their father would be expected, and even three or four wouldn’t be unusual, but all twelve?”

John shook his head. “No. I’ve heard that theory and I agree that it’s a likely one” – certainly more likely than the one about a small legion of mice that chewed the shoes to pieces every night – “but you aren’t talking about a theory. You know something everyone else doesn’t.”

The man’s expression flashed briefly to surprise, like someone might look at a dog who had performed a trick it should be too stupid to be capable of, before going carefully blank again. “I know a lot of things everyone else doesn’t, most of which aren’t relevant to the matter at hand. Some of them are, but I’m not able to share them, the nature of the curse, I’m afraid.”

“Okay fine, you want to break this curse and can’t do it yourself –“

“I do so despise legwork,” the man agreed pleasantly.

“- but why exactly are you talking to me?”

Instead of answering, the man asked, in that same mildly pleasant voice that John didn’t trust a single bit, “You never did mention, how is your leg John?”

“I don’t see what my leg has to do with anything,” John protested hotly, tightening his grip on his cane. Whispers by his former comrades, his supposed friends, floated up in the back of his mind (“ _how does a man barely hit end up with a limp” “it’s not natural” “something’s happened to him” “what if it come after one of us next” “it’s dangerous keeping him around”_ ), but John ruthlessly squashed them.

“Don’t you?” the man said, a knowing glint in his eyes. “It may comfort you to know that you weren’t actually attracting any extra danger to your fellow soldiers, whatever they may think. It was merely a case of an idiot managing to get his hands on something powerful beyond his comprehension, as idiots sometimes do, and squandering it. You were just unlucky enough to get your leg grazed by a cursed arrow.”

“Oh yeah, really comforting to know I terrified the entire outpost for no bloody reason.” Not to mention, for all the excuses about his shoulder and the tremor in his hand, John knew why he had really been discharged.

The man made a dismissive gesture, as though to say John’s concerns were unimportant to him (which they probably were) and largely irrelevant (which they damn well weren’t). “Alright,” John said, trying not to sound bitter, “so you figure have the already cursed guy try to break the curse on the princesses, because at least you can’t make it worse?”

“Hardly,” the man sniffed. “I told you, I have a vested interest in seeing this curse broken. I will use the best man for the job regardless of potential collateral damage. And you are uniquely qualified.”

John didn’t answer in so many words, just looked at the man. In what way was he, a washed-up, middle aged, discharged solider with a bad shoulder and a limp, uniquely qualified? “The particular curse you were hit with was designed to result in the total paralysis in any normal person. Not by preventing the movement of their limbs, but by keeping them in such total debilitating pain, they couldn’t focus on anything else.”

“You’re trying to tell me I have some innate ability to break curses?” John asked skeptically.

“In a way. You, John, are singularly and abnormally stubborn.” Okay, _that_ did sound like John. “In fact, I believe you might even be capable of breaking the curse on your leg completely, given enough time and the right motivation. I would, however, be willing to remove it for you, if you were to agree to attempt to break the curse on the royal family for me.”

“Why?”

“I’d imagine most men would prefer to have the full use of both legs,” the man said mildly.

“No, why do you care?” John clarified. “You don’t strike me as the patriotic type, so why are you putting so much effort in trying to get the curse lifted?”

“My personal motivations are unimportant. Suffice to say it is something I worry about. Constantly.”

Right, John supposed that was a fair point. Breaking a curse plaguing twelve women, and by extension their father and the rest of the kingdom, could only be a good thing, no matter what this bloke was getting out of it. “No.” Of course, John still didn’t trust the man.

“No?” the man asked, delicately raising an eyebrow. “What part of my proposal could you possibly object to?”

“The part where I do you a favor and it somehow ends in you owning me.” John was not an idiot – reckless certainly, but not an idiot. “If I break either curse I’ll do it on my own terms, thanks.”

“I see,” the man said, his tone one of resigned disappointment, but John thought he saw a hint of approval in the man’s eyes. “Well, in that case let me offer you this. Not to make you beholden to me in any way, just as an apology for wasting your time.” The man’s hands went to his shoulders and, though John would have sworn up and down that the man wasn’t wearing any sort of cloak, when his hands came away there was a long swathe of black fabric held in them. The man then crossed the clearing to drape the garment over the chair, and the two items promptly disappeared.

“What…” John began, limping over to the empty space where the chair used to be. Or perhaps not so empty, he discovered when his searching hand met with the feeling of cloth over wood. He grasped the cloth and pulled it to him, causing the chair and the inky black cloak to become visible again.

“It’s a cloak made from shadows. I’m sure you’ll be able to find a good use for it, as well as this piece of advice. My shadows,” the man said, making a slight gesture that encompassed the cloak, the bird, and the stag, “can thrive in the light, but you’ll find that is not the case for all shadows.”

“Who the hell are you?” John demanded.

The man just smiled. “Welcome back to the war. Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson.” Then, between one blink and the next, the man, the deer, the bird, and the chair were gone.

(John spent the next three minutes complaining loudly about how he certainly wasn’t going to be able to help anyone break any sort of curse if he starved to death due to being lost in the woods. Finally the bird came back – this time not as a songbird or a raven, but a hawk of some kind, which John assumed meant he had gone up in the mysterious man’s estimation – and led John out the forest to a spot a just little further south down the road than where he’d been when this whole exercise in ridiculousness started. So that was alright then.)

**Author's Note:**

> Here's where I issue a challenge of my own, 'cause I'm bored. As I'm sure you've noticed, John, Sherlock, Mycroft, and Moriarty have yet to show up. If someone can correctly guess the roles all four take in this story, I will fill any request that person has (so long as it's not explicit, because there are limits to my abilities, guys) in any fandom I write in. Ready, go!


End file.
